


Killer

by modestlobster



Category: Venom (Movie 2018)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Different First Meeting, Bad Jokes, Bad Puns, F/M, Florida, M/M, Other, POV Eddie Brock, Spoiler: Orca
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-03-16
Updated: 2019-05-04
Packaged: 2019-11-18 22:21:07
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,254
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18127229
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/modestlobster/pseuds/modestlobster
Summary: Eddie Brock goes on assignment at a theme park in Florida where he encounters an orca whale with an unusual talent.The AU no one asked for!Rated/tagged for future chapters — some tags to be added . . .I have only seen the movie, none of the comics. So, there's that.





	1. A Tease(r)

Okay, so here's the story: A 'killer whale' _(Orcinus orca)_ named Brandari had died at 'Our Ocean Planet', a marine animal theme park… But it wasn't the first time this had happened. And people were protesting. And other people — they were protesting _those_ protestors.

Look, there's two sides to every story. Sometimes more. And that's Eddie Brock's specialty — to spell it out for the good people of America, so they can make up their own damn minds about it, in some sorta educated manner, at least. Plus, it was a good enough reason for a trip to Florida instead of enduring a week-long blizzard in NYC. Ain't no arguing that.

So I went into it with nothing more than a terrible working title of _"O.O.P.'s 'I Did It Again' "_ — and the expectation that (as always) I would find there were a few shitty people on both sides of the coin; and some good people, too, if you dig hard enough through all the crap.

But in this case, I found something more. Much, much more.

He called himself 'Venom'.

...It called…

Uh… _They._

 _They are Venom._ Apparently.

I have no idea what the _fuck_ that means.

But I can't stop thinking about it.

Them.

Him.

_Shit._

Okay.

…It's gonna be okay.

Yeah.


	2. Mr. OOP

You know, I was _just_ startin’ to _really_ enjoy myself on the _‘Our Ocean Planet: Close Encounters — The Ultimate Orca Experience’_ tour that I’d forked out some extra dough on.

There was this little 5-year-old know-it-all trying to set my head on fire with a death glare — you know, ‘cause I had answered the Head Orca Trainer lady’s question about the benefits of havin’ a nice healthy layer of whale blubber (I’m just sayin’, don’t knock it ‘til you try it…), before Baby Einstein’d had their chance. Now the parents were giving me that look, too, as their perfect little progeny’s stubborn frown threatened to mutate into a full-blown tantrum. What else could I do? I gave ‘em my most winningest (read: schmuckiest) oblivious smile.

Yeah, Eddie Brock is a bad man. Very, very bad. (He likes his cheap thrills, anyway… Gotta take what you can get.)

Look, we all let the kid answer the H.O.T. lady’s other seventy-two questions correctly; I’m not a monster, alright? But this is the real world; kid’s gotta learn that sometime. Streak’s gonna break — maybe today, maybe tomorrow, maybe yesterday (if you’re not payin’ attention). ‘Cause that’s the only guarantee about luck: It runs out.

And it seemed mine was particularly short-lived today. The trainer suddenly looked like she’d swallowed somethin' outta the chum bucket meant for Skuggar, the orca we were supposed to be ‘encountering’ today.

I did a subtle little glance back over my shoulder, deft journo that I am, and yeah — there it was. Mr. O.O.P. himself. Trotting down the aisle of stairs between the blocks of stadium seats. Guess somebody in the park had recognized me after all. Deft journo that I am not. _Oops_ …

There was this little ‘Big Boss’ nod from him to _Ms. ‘Please Don’t Fire Me From Training Whales For Peanuts, Which Is The Reason You’ve Got The Money You Do, Mr. Big Boss’_ and then poor H.O.T. lady just sorta contorted her face into somethin’ that only just barely qualified under the dictionary definition of “smiling” and turned to the tour group to squeak out a few desperate words: “Now! if you’ll all, uh! follow me down tank-side! we’ll say hello to ‘Skuggy’!”

I stood up with the rest of the group, but knew it was gonna be about 13 seconds ‘til I’d get that not-so-friendly hand-on-the-shoulder, _stop-right-where-you-are-‘pal’_ and _‘please’-come-with-me-(away-from-the-prying-eyes-of-any-potential-witnesses)-or-’else’_ … What? I’ve been around the block a few times. Stepped on a few toes.

And… _yeah._

_There it was._

“Please allow me to introduce myself, Mr. Brock. I’m—”

“Carlton Drake, CEO of O.O.P.—” I spun on the well-worn heel of my Reebok sneakers (always ready for action, and these kicks’ve seen plenty of it) to face the man, “—Founder of the POOL, ‘Protect Our Ocean Life’ Foundation. Somethin’ of a Genius-Millionaire-Philanthropist, balanced out by a wicked streak of very public misanthropic cynicism. All-around majorly complex guy, am I right… Did I miss anything?”

 _“ ‘Central Florida’s Most Eligible Bachelor’_ , depending which papers you read…” Drake smiled, but it wasn’t a good look for him. Like he hadn’t had much practise at it. “You know your facts.”

“Yeah… That’s kinda my job.” I stuck my hands in my pockets. A few subtle swipe-rights and my phone was taking dictation. Or maybe I’d have a Tinder date set up for later. Either way.

“And it’s _my job_ to protect _Our Ocean Planet_.” Drake loomed over me menacingly, what with his standing two steps above me in the aisle. He intimidated for another moment in his Bond-villain charcoal blazer, then took out his phone and swiped himself. “I’m very sorry to cut into your tour today, Mr. Brock. I’ve already arranged for your ticket and add-ons to be fully reimbursed.”

“Yeah, no, that’s not necessary…” I shook my head emphatically when he showed me the figure on his Apple Pay app, “Which is a nice way of me saying _that really ain’t appropriate.”_

Drake ignored me, “We can even reimburse for your _return flight home_ for the _inconvenience_ of your vacation _‘ending early’_ …” He showed me a revised dollar amount.

I sniffed. Gave him a stony stare. “We both know this ain’t a vacation.”

We stubbornly eyed each other long enough that it was starting to get awkward. One of us was really gonna have to buy the other a drink, if it went on much longer. Luckily, Drake cracked first.

He pocketed his phone tetchily. “How well do I need to convince you that we’re doing the right thing here?”

“Those protesters outside, you know, they got a pretty convincing case against you,” I lobbed at him casually. I hadn’t actually talked to any of ‘em yet, but I wasn’t gonna let Drake know that.

“Is it so surprising, in this economy, how many people will turn up if you just promise them a free lunch, hand them a sign and tell them what to shout?”

“Hold up,” I huffed out a laugh, “Are you saying that PETA’s just bringin’ in ringers…”

Drake gave a nonchalant shrug. “Is that who’s out there today?”

Oof. Hard to tell if he’s that good, or that bad. He stared me down another millisecond before he raised his hand, about to signal to his security guards to do their thing.

“Hey,” I interrupted, scrambling, “You know, this feature I’m writing — it could really benefit from, uh… a _proper_ interview and, you know, maybe a tour of your med facilities?” Disarming eyebrow raise. Worth a shot. “Might help turn the tide of public opinion…”

Drake gave me a long slow blink, like a cat considering how best to torture its prey before killing it for the fun of it. He signaled to the guards anyway.

Well, _shit_. That’s luck, huh?

The guards left the arena.

Oh. Shit. Well, okay then.

“Mr. Brock, why don’t you go ride a few rides, eat a whale-shaped ice cream, and meet us after closing time at the Rehabilitation Center.” It wasn’t exactly a suggestion. “And if you’re going to make any more ocean puns, at least make the next one a good one.” He sighed out of — what was that, _disappointment?_ “I _have_ heard them all.”


End file.
